Bliss awaits. She lies beneath you, anticipating that precise moment that your two bodies become one, joined in inertia and friction and rapture.
The stage had been set for this the entire evening, a night unparalleled in your dating history. The dinner was sublime, the walk through the park holding hands was a brilliant stroke of genius on your part, and even a phone call from your drunken best friend did nothing to shake the foundation you so painstakingly built over the course of the night.
Granted, up to and including this moment, you are a virgin. You've never experienced the felicity of intercourse, the joy and overwhelming pleasure of lovemaking - only fantasizing about it with the help of Hawk magazine and many, many lonely nights of menage-a-moi.
Son, we all started that way. Sure, the publication might differ, but the idea is the same: You dream of meeting that woman who comes into your workplace and flirts shamelessly with you, or maybe it's that girl who sits two seats down in your Intro To Psychology class. You conjure up visions of taking her out to see some chick movie, maybe a nice Italian dinner, and ending the evening with her in your bed (or you in hers), her knees up to her shoulders, rutting like dogs, her screaming (or moaning) your name in orgiastic ecstasy, sharing a post-coital smoke afterwards ...
Of course, we all know it doesn't work like that most of the time, one-night stands excepted. And while one-nighters are indeed fun, a night like that illustrated in the opening two paragraphs of this article is inherently more satisfying.
In reply, let me put forth a theory that will quickly advance us to the overall point of this essay:
If you've never made love to Mazzy Star, you've never really made love. Thusly, you might well qualify for virginhood; check with your local judiciary for more details.
Let me clarify. I don't mean actually making love to Hope Sandoval and David Roback, although the thought of the former is certainly more than a little arousing. Rather, I mean making love to someone while Mazzy Star is playing on the stereo.
And so we return to our original scenario. The goddess underneath you asks you if you would so kindly put on some tunes, and you naturally oblige her ... with a live Black Flag bootleg you were listening to earlier in the day.
She, of course, immediately pushes you off her, throws her clothes on and exits your house (and your life) with haste. She's likely to go home, get drunk, put the Cocteau Twins on, and fire up the old diesel-powered 24-horsepower implement she picked up at the adult bookstore, images of Matt Damon or DiCaprio prancing through her head.
Dear Gentle Reader, where was the error in your ways? The night was a paragon of romantic virtue (if there is such a thing). Yet you were ill-prepared for that vital instant that could make or break the heretofore perfect evening. All of the thoughts of this transcendental mini-epic you'd hoped would play out - shattered ... because your poor choice of music would cuase even the most depraved and promiscuous of harlots to dry up and kick you out of bed, let alone the snow-white aurora of your dreams.
We here at No Ugly Babies, while not licensed sex therapists, would nonetheless love to help. May we suggest some cool albums, or even cooler mix tapes, for this purpose?
The advantages of making a mix tape for an evening of lovin' are twofold: It not only shows that you've put a lot of thought into her desires (find out what really turns her on musically and adjust accordingly), but it can also provide a diverse array of textures and hills and valleys into your trip to Magic Town. On the other hand, you can't throw a mix tape together on short notice, and unless you make a new tape every so often, you could both get burned out on the same songs playing every time you do the deed.
(Unless, of course, your bed comes equipped with a revolving door and a "Now Serving" sign ... then again, if that's the case, then you don't really need our help, do you?)
If you're looking for a quick fix, grab one of the following albums, have it ready at the moment of truth, and enjoy:
You get the idea, right? Don't unleash Slayer or Molly Hatchet or Green Day on her. "Ethereal" works here. "Gods of hardcore" doesn't.
For advanced students of the Kama Sutra and the like (again, in which case you probably don't even need this article), perhaps a mix tape would serve the purpose a little better. It'll show that you've put some time and effort into the endeavor.
You'll have a 90-minute cassette (or 60, or 100, depending on your stamina) at the ready for any possible evenings of wine and roses with your lady. You're cuddling on the couch or in bed with your lover, you hit "play" on the tape deck, turn the lights down (candles would be a nice touch here, but you already knew that), and let the music take over. (Having a tape deck equipped with auto-reverse would be handy.)
And unless you're a cold heartless bastard, you'll still be basking in the glow of that quintessential night years from now.
You've still got a couple of days - so go out, buy some of the above records, or unveil your mix tape on Valentine's Day, use protection and thank us later.
--Brandon Grimes